#collins is everything

[albionscastle]

I'm actually getting enough time at work to do this!!!! More Collins coming soon

[albionscastle]

I'm going to start by apologizing to my readers waiting for updates. I know I kind of left you in the lurch but fear not because there are updates coming!!!

It's been a rough few months for me in r/l. Like there have legitimately been moments when I wondered if I was going to make it through without a complete breakdown. To be honest I think I had a mini one.

Most of you know that I'm a single mum to two teenagers. I also live in a small town with very few employment opportunities. Now we always seem to make it work, but it's hard. Writing has been helping as an escape. My mum was diagnosed with COPD which, while not terminal at the moment, is seriously impacting her quality of life. It's always been our dream to travel and I decided that no matter what, it was going to happen this year.

Cut to me working 2 full time kind this summer to pay for a trip as well as everything the kids needed for back to school. It was hard. I didn't have a day off for almost 3 months.

Then came the news that my usual job had decided to go out of business. I'm not ashamed to say there was panic. Finding a job here is next to impossible, especially for a single parent who has schedules to consider.

Luckily my former employer contacted me asking if I wanted to work at her new cafe, which naturally I accepted. Cut to two weeks ago, the jobs overlapped..which was fine. My son had cross country meets to be organized, training and my daughter was also trying to schedule around me. The cafe job is low stress, but when everything kind of happened at once it triggered an anxiety attack that led to a 12 day migraine and 3 days unable to even move from the couch.

I feel better now, seeing the doctor today, schedules have been made and a routine has been entered into. My son's 16th birthday party is this Sunday and it's all great. In two weeks my mum and I leave for two weeks in Scotland.

I know when I get there it will all be worth it.

As for writing...I haven't had the time or energy to pick up a pen for weeks. But I did yesterday. I can't promise an update before I leave on my trip but I can promise regular ones when I get back.

So thanks for being patient. I've missed you all.

And a huge Shout out to @takemedancingmaine and @flowerthroughdisarray for helping to keep me sane through all this. I love you guys!!

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again. Part 8. (A Collins Fic)

Ok so I FINALLY got another chapter written. Collins was not co-operating with me at all over the holiday season...stubborn bugger.

There’s only a few more chapters to go now, This was never supposed to be as long as it has become and I have to still stick to my end game. Maybe 3 more chapters, 4 at most.

In this chapter a mistake is made, we meet Collins’ parents and yes, there’s a ceremony.

FIC MASTERLIST

WE’LL MEET AGAIN PART 8 THOSE WERE THE DAYS

Almost three days passed in a haze of affection, passion and comfort. Once your initial feelings of trepidation had been unfounded your ease around Jack simply grew. He was amazingly attentive, and caring. He hadn’t taken you again for a full day after the first time, instead helping you soak in a hot bath to ease any residual pain. Then he’d held you in his arms, fingers stroking your arm as you both talked, baring your souls and all your secrets. By the time the sun had set again and Collins had rolled onto his back, pulling you onto him there wasn’t a thing that he didn’t know about you. He had even cried with you when you told him how Margot had died and your guilt in sending her to get help, an action which had spared your life. He hadn’t tried to tell you that you shouldn’t feel guilty, instead he had pulled you closer, cradling your head in the crook of his neck as you bawled. That you both felt such guilt over your actions during that awful day was something that seemed to draw you even closer, no one else could understand as well. You knew without a doubt that Collins would always understand your dark moments, when the memory of Margot would rear its head, just as you knew you would understand his. The death of Hughes and Margot were memories that would never go away and this time with Jack simply helped to prove that it was ok. That everything you felt, good or bad was ok. You both deserved to live, and to grab at happiness for however long you had.On the morning of the fourth day you woke with the sun, watching your love sleep beside you, the light gilding his lashes as they fluttered against his cheeks. Your throat convulsed as you fought back tears, the sight of him sometimes just overwhelming you. He was, simply put, beautiful. That he was, for any amount of time, yours, was something you honestly couldn’t even comprehend. Just as you couldn’t even begin to quantify the love you felt for him.He was, simply, everything.“Are ye watchin me sleep?” One blue eye opened to catch you staring at him. “There’s an ocean out tha window, why bother watchin me?”He chuckled, sliding an arm around your waist and snuggling closer, his hair soft against your skin as he pressed his lips against the bare skin of your shoulders.“I like looking at you.”“Am I abou tae marry a daft woman then?”“Quit it, you silly man.” you laughed, threading your fingers through the silken strands of his hair, loving the way it glinted in the sunlight.“Oh, silly am I?” his fingers found your ribs, tickling you while you squirmed and jerked, gales of giggles escaping your lips. Collins grinned as you struggled, using his body to hold you down while his hands tortured you.“Ok, ok!” you managed to choke out between laughs. “I give, you win, you aren’t silly.”His response was to take your breath away, his lips smashing against yours as his fingers spread over your sides stroking the skin softly.  Lifting his head he shifted, holding himself up on his elbows, fingers tangling in your hair. “I love ye, Y/N whether yer daft or no.” he rubbed his nose against yours, his hair falling forward over your face.“That’s good to know, because I rather think you're stuck with me now Jack Collins.” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.He shifted, lowering his body to cover yours, pressing his lips against yours to swallow your gasp as he entered you with one smooth thrust of his hips. You made love in the sunlight, every inch of his skin now as familar to you as your own and so much more precious to you.  There was a spot, right at the back of his neck where hair met skin that when you ran your hand over it made Collins shiver. Another spot on his scalp that made him purr when you scratched your fingers through the strands of his blond hair. He knew just where to touch you to get the response he wanted, had learned the ins and outs of what gave you pleasure and used the knowledge thoroughly. Lacing his fingers with yours he raised your arms above your head, stretching your body under his as you both moved together. Grunts and pants were met with staccato whispers as you told him you loved him with every slide of his body inside you.Later, the sun fully risen in the sky he lifted his head from your shoulder, lips brushing over your check, pushing damp strands of hair off your face. Easing out of you with a grunt he reached down to grab...his eyes snapping up to yours, startled and nervous.“We forgot summan.”“Hmmmmm?” you stretched leisurely as he rolled over beside you. “Forgot what?”“Condom.” he all but whispered, his voice tight as a jolt of trepidation shot through you.The conversation surrounding the box of them he’d packed had been only slightly less awkward than the use of them. He’d explained that they were issued to every serviceman after you’d teased him about being a ‘'man about town’. His cheeks had been so red when he’d told you that too many soldiers had gotten the clap during World War One and boxes of condoms were now standard military issue. Honestly you had just been thankful he’d known to have them, unsure as you still were about the future.There was no escaping a talk about that now.“I’m sorry, lass, ahm such an idiot.”“Don't, it wasn't just your fault. Besides we don't know, it may be nothing.”“What if it is, summan? How would ye feel about tha?”You didn't even have to think about it. Rolling onto your side you placed your hand against his cheek, thumb brushing the skin as his head nuzzled into your palm. “I would be happy.”“Ye would? Ye mean it?”“I do. I know we've never talked about it but I want children with you. A little boy with your golden hair and blue eyes. Or a little girl who clings to your leg everytime you move.”The look on his face was one of relief as he let loose the breath he'd been holding. Joy filled his eyes as he crushed you to him.“I wan tha too lass, so much its no even funny. But I had thought tae wait till the war was over. I dinna wan ye saddled with a bairn if summan happens tae me.”“Don't say that.” you choked, tears leaking from behind your lids as you held his as tightly as you could. “Darlin, it's summan we have tae talk about. Ye know wha I do out there, ye know how dangerous it is.”“I know, but I just can't bear to think about anything happening to you. I don't want to imagine what it would be like without you. But if, if…..” you couldn't even make the words push past the convulsing in your throat. “Your child wouldn't be a burden on me, it would be a blessing. Nothing could ever make me regret having a child with you.”“God I really am marryin a daft woman.” he laughed, the sound cutting through the dark atmosphere surrounding you.The sun still shone, the radiator kicked out a wave of warmth, wafting over you. He was in your arms now, and that was all that mattered.“What time is the train?”“About 11.” he murmured, fingers tracing patterns over your shoulder as you snuggled your head against his chest, his heartbeat loud and strong in your ear. “Why?”“No reason, it’s just that it's gone 10.”You chuckled as he jumped swiftly out of bed, pulling the sheet around yourself as he dashed to the wardrobe, naked, fishing out clothing.“I’ll never hear the end o it if I’m no there tae meet them. Me da loves tae tease me that the RAF finally made me able tae keep time.” he was shrugging into his shorts and undershirt, chuckling to himself as you watched, enjoying the opportunity to just drink him in.“Are ye goin tae get dressed, lass or were ye plannin tae meet me parents naked?”“I don't think they'd enjoy that too much.” you laughed. “I'm just enjoying the view for a few minutes.”You laughed as his cheeks flushed pink, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. He was shit at tying his tie so he came and sat beside you, hand stroking your thigh gently as you did it for him, pecking you on the cheek as you walked past him to gather your own clothing. You washed quickly in the bathroom, feeling a twinge of something in your stomach as you cleaned away the evidence of the mistake made. No, not a mistake, you told yourself as you slipped into your dress, an accident maybe but you could never bring yourself to believe that anything that came from your relationship with Jack Collins was a mistake. Whatever happened you would never regret it, even if it did mean bringing a child into the world during a war.Jack slipped behind you, brushing his teeth as you brushed your hair. He smiled at you in the tiny mirror, reaching out to twirl it around his fingers before you swept it up into a knot. Taking advantage of your bare neck he scattered soft kisses all over the exposed skin, his hands splaying across your lower belly.“I love ye.” he whispered, stepping back out into the bedroom to put on his jacket and coat.He helped you into your coat, buttoning it up for you despite your protests that you could handle the buttons. Jack simply laughed, swatting your hands away and pulling your closer by the lapels, kissing the bridge of your nose. You smoothed his hair off his brow, brushing his shoulders. He hadn't shaved in a few days and you knew he was supposed to, even though you liked the roughness and the ginger of os ingrowing beard. You made a note to help him with that later, much much later.The train was, surprisingly, on time and Collins could barely contain his excitement as he rocked back and forth. You were excited to meet the people who were responsible for his existence, but terrified as well. What if they didn't like you? In their defence they knew nothing about you at all, you could be any opportunistic young woman trying to trap a young man. Would Collins then be convinced of the same? That thought hurt. “Ma!Da!” Jack was jumping next to you, gaining the attention of the older couple disembarking.Their faces lit up at the sight of their son and they rushed toward you, tears streaming unabashedly down their cheeks. You took a step back as they crashed into him, everyone's arms around each other, his mother sobbing as her hands went to his face, checking him over, her baby. Her child who was a good foot taller than her and swooped her up his his arms, spinning her as she scolded him for looking too skinny.His father looked at you with a smile and shrugged as his wife wiped some imaginary dirt of Jack’s face while he pretended to scowl.“They’ll be a tha fer a while, missus has tae make sure he’s all in one piece. I’m his Da, Andrew.”He held out a hand for you to shake, a good strong grip, rough calluses and all. He held your hand as he perused you, taking your measure and despite your trembling legs you met his gaze unflinchingly. Still, you couldn't hide the puff of breath that escaped when he pulled you in for a hug.“M mighty glad tae meet ye, lassie. Mighty glad indeed. Me lad writes o nothin else.”“He’s told me a lot about you both, he loves you very much.”“Aye well he's a fine lad, brave enough tae volunteer fer the RAF, even though we didnae wan him tae. ““He’s a hero.”“Mebe, but he’s still always goin tae be that wee boy chasin chickens in his Sunday best while his Ma scolded him.”That was a vision that warmed you and your hand unconsciously went to your stomach, the possibility of a mini Collins tugging at your heart.“Ma, leave off an come meet Y/N.” he laughed as she lectured him about his beard.Pulling his mother over to where you stood with Andrew, Jack looked down at you both fondly, a huge smile spreading over his face. You barely noticed his Dad take him aside, wrapping him in a hug.He looked like his mother, right down to the huge blue eyes and strawberry hair. You let her look you up and down, her Mum eyes taking in every detail from your head to your toes. “Yer a pretty wee thing. Jacky tells me ye met after tha Dunkirk fiasco.”“I was there when they came off the boats. I drive him back to his base.” you said it quietly, not knowing how much he’d told them. The woman moved so fast you didn't know what had hit you as she enveloped you in a hug so tight you were afraid she might break a bone.“Thank ye. Thank ye fer being someone ma baby could turn tae after that. I’m so happy he's no alone.”It took you all of a second to hug her back, your arms sliding around her as she rocked you in her arms, crying as you now were. When she pulled away finally you felt emotion swell in your chest. Andrew and Jack looked on, tears streaming down the older man's cheeks, the younger fighting back his own. “Me name is Helen, but ye can call me ma.”“Ma.” you tried it on your tongue. It felt right. Looking around you knew with certainty that these were your people, this was your family now and you were theirs. Your family had been gone for 10 years and you'd been alone since you were 16. This was the first time since you were a child that you had felt the warmth of a parent’s love.Jack Collins had brought you home.“So em, wasnae there a special event ye asked us tae come down fer?”Jack looked at his father, a blush spreading over his cheeks.“Yeah, we should go do tha after some lunch, I know Y/N wans tae wear summan nice.”His parents were to be installed in a room downstairs and Jack started to climb the stairs to your room before his Ma stopped him.“Ye can wait wi yer Da, we ladies will get ourselves ready.”Any protest he might have made was stopped dead by the stern look on Helen’s face.“Yes ma’am.” he mumbled, looking at you longingly. This was the longest you had gone without touching in days and it was killing you too, but you desperately wanted to get to know Helen better. She followed you up the stairs chuckling as you reached the door to your room.“Tha boy, lookin at ye like he cannae breathe without ye, he’s his father’s son.” she noticed your hesitation. “Relax dearie, I’ll no be judgin ye fer sharin a room. I did the same wi his Da during the last War. There’s no shame in love.”For an hour you talked, Helen had you take a bath, helped you wash your hair and pulled a lovely blue and white silk frock from her bag.“I didnae know if ye had anythin, I never had a weddin dress but I wore this a few years ago fer our anniversary. I think it will fit.”“Its lovely.” you murmured, letting her slide it on, swiftly closing the delicate buttons up the back. Your hands smoothed the silk against your skin, the dress almost a perfect fit, leaving bare your collarbone. The skirt slithered smoothly to your knees, flaring up when you spun. It was simple and lovely and you had never worn anything so fine.Helen deftly piled your hair, braiding it onto your head, and pinning it.“I always wanted a daughter, but we only ever had Jack. He was our miracle baby. But now we have ye, so it's alright.”“You don't know anything about me though.”“I know ma son loves ye, Jack has always been a good judge o character. Tha’s enough fer me.”You turned, hugging her around the waist, understanding now how Collins had come to be such a good man with parents like these. They had welcomed you without hesitation or judgement, loved you simply because their son did. No matter what happened you would make sure you never let them down.Poor Jack looked like he was chomping at the bit by the time you made it downstairs, you saw him pacing back and forth, his brow furrowed with worry. At your appearance he stopped,gazing up at you with the widest smile you’d ever seen.“I was afraid ye were runnin away ye were gone so long.”“Right, your mum and I were going to abandon you, silly man.” you scoffed softly.“Good thing yer daft then so we're a great pair.” he pulled you close, leaning down to kiss you gently, ignoring the chuckles of his parents. “Shall we go do this?”The registrar's office was a tiny stone building on the town square, sandwiched between a pub and a butcher. The license had been obtained by Jack before you left London and all you’d had to do was sign it in surprise before you went in front of the officiant. The ceremony itself was simple and short. You didn't mind, there was no real need for anything more, you both knew how you felt, that you saw your future together and that was all you needed.You did cry when Helen handed Collins a box containing two rings.“They belonged tae me grandparents.” he explained, sliding a delicate sapphire onto your finger.His grandfather's ring was slid down the length of his finger, sitting beneath your fingers as you twisted it during the rest of the ceremony. He was yours, you were his, for as long as you lived. Your kiss was hurried as you were ushered out to admit a new visitor and you exited the building in a daze. You were married. The gorgeous, tall man in the spotless blue uniform beside you was your husband. Your heart swelled and for a moment you couldn't breathe over the rush of happiness. Helen and Andrew stepped ahead, eyes on the pub for a celebration. Looking up at Jack you grinned before burrowing yourself under his arm to wrap your arms around his waist as you walked.“How do ye feel, Mrs. Collins?”“Like I could fly.”You yelped as he swung you suddenly, hoisting you up in his arms, mouth covering yours. Hot, desperate and hungry his tongue slid over yours, a promise of the night to come. In an instant your body was on fire and you barely resisted the impulse to wrap your legs around his waist and beg him to take you back to the room.A cough brought you back to reality, you slid down to earth and turned to see Collins’ parents grinning at you, Andrew's face as red as his son’s.“Drink first, then ye can get on tae tha business.” he chuckled.“I've seen em, in the kitchen. Me Da still kisses her like it's the first time.”“One day that will be us. You better be kissing me in our kitchen years from now.”“Aye when I’m goin bald and me face is all lined and wrinkled. Ye’ll no wan tae have me all over ye.”“Especially then, Jack Collins. Every day for the rest of our lives.”“I think I can handle tha.” he laughed, taking your hand as you walked into the pub.The shiver that ran down your spine was caused by the cold breeze, you were certain. Snuggling into your new husband for warmth you allowed yourself to simply enjoy him, love him and for the rest of the night you forgot the fact that there was still a war going on.Reality would come soon enough.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again (Collins Fic Pt 1)

Got a real bee in my bonnet to write for Collins. The events are all set after the events of the movie. There will be romance of course but mostly angst. I was writing this on the anniversary of my Dad and sisters deaths so its coming from a pretty dark place. That should be taken as fair warning. My great uncle was an RAF pilot during WW2 so some of what I’m getting is stories from his letters home. (He was shot down in July of 41)

Descriptions of battle and bombings.

Special thanks to @tomgcsglasses and @deathbylowden for talking me through such a crappy week.

This is looking to be a 4 part series.

I listened to ALOT of Vera Lynn and the Andrews Sisters while writing this. Particularly We’ll Meet Again and It Hurts to Say Goodbye.

FIC MASTERLIST

The sirens woke you, the terrifying screech and wail of them inspiring paralyzing dread. There had been drills, of course. Ever since the Dunkirk fiasco you had all be trained in what to do when the time came.

You felt cold as you jumped out of bed, pushing your feet into the shoes you kept by the bed for this very purpose. It had been strongly suggested that you sleep either clothed or in men’s pyjamas, all the women in the boarding house had been told this, but as far as you knew, very few of the shrinking violets you shared the house with could bear the thought.

More fool them, you thought as you pulled a man’s overcoat over your pyjamas and grabbed the leather case from beside the door. Everything you cared about in the world was inside it, anything else could burn.

The hallway outside your room was chaos, but much less than you had feared. A few girls cried and looked around in confusion, but most of them were simply walking toward the stairs, the fear and urgency thick in the air. You made it to the first floor quickly and out into the street. People were everywhere, the sirens screeching around you and for a brief moment you felt the panic rising in your throat.

The darkness seemed oppressive as you hurried your way to your designated air raid shelter, the barrage balloons and their almost sinister hissing mixing with the sirens and terrified voices in a cacophony of menace and terror.

But at least the streets had air.

The tube station that you descended into was hot with stale air and the press of bodies. Men and women with Red Cross insignias were busy directing people to cots and blankets, stations with bread and jam, and of course tea.

You chuckled to yourself at the sight. Never had you seen anything more british than hot tea being served in underground tunnels while bombs were being dropped on the city overhead. Only if they stopped serving tea would you know that the british Empire was truly doomed.

“Y/N!”

You heard a call from the far corner of the station and saw a group of women from the factory you worked at.

“Here, we saved you a spot.” You sat on a cot gratefully, propping your case by your feet as you sipped your tea.

The first time the walls shuddered, you almost didn’t notice it, but you did feel the sudden change in the air. The second one was certainly noticed and a few people screamed as dirt tricked from the ceiling as the whole area shuddered.

“God, they’re really doing it, aren’t they?” Dolores whispered.

“It was inevitable, after Dunkirk, the Jerrys are sure they have us on the run.” Margot pointed out.

“They came close.” you murmured. “They almost broke us.”

“But they didn’t.” Della smiled. “We got our boys home and we’ll keep fighting. Hitler will never win.”

“What does that man of yours have to say about it, Y/N?”

“He’s not ‘my man’ “ you huffed. “And he can’t say anything about it, they aren’t allowed to.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t though.” Dolores said meaningfully.

“All he said was that they were sure Britain was going to be bombarded and that we should be prepared.”

“Is this the pilot who writes to you?” This from Violet, the youngest at 17, her beau off fighting in the French trenches.

You nodded in the affirmative, noticing the dark look that Margot was sending you all.

“I told you that was a mistake Y/N. You can’t get attached to any of them.”

“I’m not attached, Margot, he just wanted a friend, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet you a quid you have all his letters in that case right there, full of the things you can’t live without.”

You flushed, knowing she was right.

“He’s only written a few letters Margot. These boys just need to know that there’s people at home rooting for them to make it.”

“And when they don’t make it? What happens then? To those letters and your heart? How are you going to survive if he doesn’t come home?”

“Margot!”

“No, Della, its ok. Margot, I understand. To me it’s worth it, he has no one else, I couldn’t let him go back to war without someone to hold onto. Besides, you didn’t see his face when he walked off that boat.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Margot whispered, moving off to get some tea.

“What’s her deal then?” Violet hissed.

“Her man didn’t make it home, his ship was sunk in January. She got his last letter a few days after she got the news.”

“Oh.”

There was silence as you all thought of your loved ones. Dolores’ son was High Command and safe, but the decisions he had to make were eating him alive. Della had sent her kids to her parent’s farm in Wales for safety and she missed them like crazy. Violet’s sweetheart was in constant danger and her fear for him showed on her face, no matter how much she smiled.

You’d had no one to worry for, not really. Acquaintances, the men of women you knew.

Until Dunkirk. Until Collins.

Leaning back on your cot you wrapped an arm around Vi as she whimpered, each bomb strike raining dirt down on the masses huddled in the hole. Your thoughts wandered to that night, only a few months ago when all the boats had docked, carrying the weary soldiers from that beach. You would never forget the eerie silence as they all trudged toward the waiting trains, collecting blankets and food for the rest of their journey.  All their eyes were haunted, the horrors they had witnesses something you couldn’t even comprehend.

Then you had seen him, standing on the dock beside the Moonstone, watching as a body was brought off on a stretcher. His blonde hair was shock bright against the dingy green and brown of the soldiers around him, the yellow of his life vest and blue RAF uniform marking him as different from the rest.

“Where the bloody hell were you?” a soldier yelled at him and he winced, his face that of a man who carried the weight of the world.

“They know where you were son.” A civilian, the captain of the boat gestured to the group now disembarking.

You watched the blonde man nod wearily before turning away.

He looked lost, broken and unbearably young.

The blankets your group were handing out went quickly, to soldiers, boys mostly, with blank stares walking past you in a daze. Nothing was said, it didn’t need to be. What could anyone say to them that would make any of it alright?

The RAF man still stood in the same spot, looking around without really seeing.

The lorry you had driven from London sat behind you, your friend Margot had been frantic to be here when the boats landed and the 3 hour journey had been easy enough. Your factory owner had offered the blankets and there were few men left in London who really drove anymore. The drive home was going to be a lot more difficult, exhaustion and the sheer sadness of what you were witnessing was weighing heavily on you. Perhaps you could take Margot’s parents up on their offer of a room for the night.

“Hey! Anyone got transport to London? Got a lad here needs taken to RAF Uxbridge.”

“I have a lorry!” you called out instantly, knowing that all the supplies had been unloaded.

The Captain of the Moonstone walked over to you, the young man shuffling far behind him.

“Thank you Miss, no one else here came from London or there’s nothing else available. The trains are taking the other men to the North.”

“It’s not a thing, I’m glad to help out.”

There was a blanket on the table still and you snatched it as you walked past.

“Margot, I’m taking this man to Uxbridge. Do you want to come with me now or stay with your parents?”

“I’m staying on here a few days. Be safe though, ok. Give the poor bastard some of this.” she pulled a flask from her garter. “I’m done with it for today.”

You shared a look of understanding before turning toward your truck. The man stood there, head down as he shuffled his boots in the gravel.

“Hi there.” You said gently as you approached. “I’m Y/N, I’m going to drive you back to the base.”

“Collins.” he stuck out a hand awkwardly for you to shake. “Can ye tell me…..are there any more boats?”

You remembered the way he’d stood, watching as the soldiers milled past. He was looking for someone.

“No, there’s no more.” If possible, he looked even sadder and you had to take a breath to calm the break in your voice. “There were some that landed at Southampton I heard.”

You tried to sound hopeful, but you knew the chances of him finding what he was looking for were slim.

In silence you both got in the lorry, Collins wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and taking a long swallow of the whiskey. As you drove out of Weymouth you wanted to say something, anything but Collins had fallen asleep against the window, his face boyish and astonishingly handsome at rest. He couldn’t be any more than 20, if that, same as you. To have gone through so much so young….you felt anger, anger at the war and at the countries who sacrificed boys to fight and die for them.

Dawn was breaking when Collins woke up with a start, blue eyes darting about for a few moments before reality hit. He let out a breath, looking at you.

“So it really happened?”

“Yes.” you murmured.

“Was hopin, ye know, tha maybe it was just a bad dream.” “I wish it had been.”

“I couldna help them, there was so little time. And then….” he broke off, biting his bottom lip. “I shoulda done more.”

“You did the best you could, all of you and that was enough. You made it home.”

“No all of us.”

“Your friend? The one you were looking for at the harbour?”

“Farrier. Flew wi’ me, trained me up.”

He told you the story then, of the fighting over the channel, of getting shot down, his rescue and the knowledge that Farrier saving their lives had left him unable to make it back across. You were crying by the end of it, unconcerned with the tears streaming down your cheeks. Neither of you could say what you were both thinking - that Farrier was very likely dead.

“Can ye stop fer a minute?”

You pulled the lorry off the road beside a paddock of late spring wildflowers. Collins walked behind some trees and reappeared a few minutes later standing in the center of the flowers, his combat uniform so out of place with the beauty of the sunrise. The ugliness of war juxtaposed with such a demonstration of life. You saw hope, standing in that paddock, hope and possibility, and the end of these horrors.

Your face had been wiped clean when Collins climbed back into the truck, but your eyes were red and puffy and you knew you were pale a drawn from exhaustion.

“Donnae cry lass, in this war once ye start ye’ll never stop. Let a lad fresh home from the front enjoy the smile of a pretty girl.”

He smiled at you then and you felt your heart thud into your feet. Collins’ smile was one that simply lit him up and you felt your lips spread in response.

“There ye go. There’s too much ugly in the world now, man needs some beauty from time te time.”

The base at Uxbridge was only a few kilometers away when you asked Collins about his family. Once he got to talking there was no stopping him. He was a man who loved his parents and had seen nothing outside the Scottish borders and the Highlands until he’d volunteered.

You were discovering that you genuinely liked him, and not because you felt bad for him.

“Would ye mind if I wrote to ye?” he said, as you pulled up to the gates. “I cannae burden me ma and da wi any of this, they worry so much already. Would ye maybe write me back, about everyday things so I donnae feel so out o touch?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. You took the pencil and paper from the middle seat and wrote down your address, tearing off a piece so he could do the same.

“Ye promise, right? Ye promise that ye’ll write to me.”

“I promise. I’ll start tonight.”

You watched him walk through the gates, turning to wave before he was met and escorted away.

You kept your promise.

The sound of a bomb falling close by startled you from your memories. Vi still lay beside you and Margot now sat at the foot of your cot.

“Forget what I said ok. You hold onto every moment, every memory. It’s worth it.”

Tears pricking at your eyes, you reached out and pulled Margot to you, the three of you holding one another, united in the grief and fear you felt for the men you loved.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again Pt 6 (A Collins Fic)

Just a short chapter, Collins was not co-operating with me when I was writing this.

Basically just tooth rotting fluffy moments because these two deserve some happy.

I used the gif for a reason ;)

Part 5

FIC MASTERLIST

The drive to Cornwall took less time than you’d expected, or perhaps it was simply that time seemed to fly in a terrifying way when you were with Jack. The countryside flew by in a blur, villages and churches dissolving into smears of grey, brown and green. Jack Collins behind the wheel of a car was, as you could only assume, much the same man who flew the Spitfires. His hands caressed the steering wheel, urging the vehicle into speeds you’d certainly never experienced. For most of the trip you could tear your eyes away from them, drinking in his long fingers and large palms, amazed that hands so big could touch something so gently.

The conversation was light, easy, it astonished you how comfortable it was with him. He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor which you loved, and he was incredibly good-natured. He told you stories that made you laugh until your sides hurt. With him, you smiled again, your heart lighter in every way, the horror and grief of the past weeks seeming to melt away.

The sun had begun to fade to grey as you drew closer to your destination, the breeze flowing through the car window causing you to shiver, even in his jacket.

“Are ye cold, lass? C’mere.” one hand came off the wheel to tuck you in next to him, his body warmth seeping into you. “Tha’ better?”

You looked up at him, his eyes off the road for a moment as he smiled down at you. Your belly twisted in a pleasant knot as you took in his shining eyes and bright teeth. He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. Not for the first time you wondered how you had gotten so lucky that this man had looked at you, that he loved you. You, just an ordinary girl who had never been anywhere, never done anything important.

Until now. You knew that Collins was the big adventure, he was what your small life had been leading up to, he was everything that you never knew you’d been waiting for. And he needed you, wanted you, it was that simple.

“What are ye starin at so intently luv?” he chuckled, his hand on your shoulder rubbing up and down to help keep you warm.

“You.” you stated, not taking your eyes off his face.

His breath puffed past his lips in a self conscious laugh, pink tinging his cheekbones.

“Would ye no rather look at the ocean?”

You shrugged. “No.”

He shook his head, cheeks reddening further. You leaned in closer, sliding an arm around his waist, your head on his shoulder. Watching the headlamps on the road, illuminating your way, you’d never felt more content.

“Almost there.” he said sometime later and you lifted your head to see town lights twinkling up ahead.

A sudden knot of anxiety gripped you as Jack parked and you both eased out of the car, you on rubbery legs. Nothing had been discussed about the practicalities, the expectations, you’d both just jumped up and run from London as though the devil himself was on your tail. The reality of what was happening had just hit you hard.

You weren’t married, were you going to share a room? A bed? What was he expecting? Were you ready for that, really? A million thoughts were running through your head as he came round to your door, offering his arm as he took the suitcases.

“Are ye ok?” He looked concerned, freeing his hands to run over your hair. “Ye can tall me if summun’s botherin ye.”

“I’m ok, I just…..need a moment.”

You leaned against the car, swaying, his hands steadying you. Through half-closed eyes you looked at him, seeing only concern, no irritation or impatience. His eyes told you that if you asked for a separate room then he would give you that, no questions asked. You didn’t want that, Jack wasn’t leaving your sight until the minute he had to return to base, of that you were going to make certain. This sudden trepidation was coming from your fear of the unknown, amplified by your tiredness. You’d been awake for so long that you weren’t even thinking straight.

“We should go in, Jack, before I fall asleep right here.”

“If I have tae carry ye then I will.”

“Won’t that get all the tongues wagging?” you laughed.

You leaned on his arm as you walked into the Inn, not taking in much of your surroundings. Your heart skipped into your stomach for a moment when Jack introduced you as Mrs. Collins before looking down at you adoringly. Those butterflies becoming rays of warmth that spread throughout your body as you held his gaze.

The discrete cough of the woman behind the desk broke the connection and you felt your cheeks burn as she smiled at you knowingly. The keys were handed over and Jack almost had to make good on his offer to carry you, your legs rubbery for another reason now. You had no idea how could be so calm, collected while you felt as though your every breath was being forced past a barrier of tension in your throat.

He ushered you into the room first, closing the door behind you and switching on the light. Your heart started hammering as you stared at the brass bed occupying the bulk of the room. Jack took the suitcases to the wardrobe, hanging clothes while you looked around, peeking into the bathroom with its huge bath, pulling the curtains across the window that looked out over the cliff.

Turning away you came face to face with the bed again, your heart calming just a little as you sat down. Barely biting back a moan the mattress sank beneath you, the softest one you’d ever felt.

“Did ye say summan?”

You shook your head, bending over to remove your shoes, toes wiggling in your stockings. What happened next?

Looking over you saw that Jack had finished putting clothes away and stood by the dresser, hands in his pockets, feet kicking against the carpet. His head was down, hair flopping over his brow, teeth biting at his bottom lip.

A knock at the door startled you and you turned on the bed to see it open, admitting the lady from downstairs.

“Well now, I thought you’d like a little something to eat after your journey, you both looked so pale and peaked. It’s not much, just some sandwiches and a little milk. Just enough to set you to rights again.”

She looked at you so kindly and you found yourself smiling back, something about the matronly woman that reminded you of your late mother. You felt secure in this moment, in this place, with these two people. Your heart rate slowed to normal as she left and Jack brought the tray over, setting it on the nightstand before sinking to sit on the radiator opposite you.

“Something wrong with the bed?” you quipped around mouthfuls of your sandwich.

“Jus warmin up me rear.”

“You’ll burn yourself, how will you explain to your superiors if you get a giant burn mark on your arse?”

“I’ll jus tell em ye burned me arse wi’ yer eyes when I got fresh wi’ ye.” he snorted.

“But you didn’t get fresh with me.” you laughed.

“Well gimme a minute woman, le a man eat first.”

His eyes caught yours, holding your gaze as he swallowed his food, smiling wolfishly while he sucked his fingers clean.

You gulped.

“Eat yer food Y/N, it’s gettin late.”

“Yes sir.” you gave a mock salute as he stood up, rolling his eyes.

He went into the bathroom while you finished your food, leaving the tray neatly outside the door. You sat on the bed again waiting, for what you didn’t know, listening to sound of water from behind the door. Your eyes felt heavy and the mattress was so soft you just wanted to float away on it.

He was kneeling in front of you when your eyes opened next, a towel draped around his neck, tie gone, shirt loosened.

“When was the last time ye slept?” his voice was so sweet, you wanted to curl up and just let it flow over you.

“Ummm, I think I got a few hours on Thursday morning after the sirens stopped.” you murmured, yawning.

“Y/N tha was two days ago.” he said sternly, his hands finding yours. “Come on ye lump, up wi’ ye.”

He tugged gently, pulling you to stand. You swayed on your feet and he steadied you.

“Don’t want to sleep.” you muttered.

“Too bad. Ye ain't doin anythin else tonight ‘cept gettin some rest.”

“But…..”

“No buts, do as y’ere told.”

“You’re really bossy, you know.” you pouted.

“Ye ain't seen nothin yet, luv. Now let's get ye tae bed.”

Your fingers went to the buttons on your dress, struggling to get them open between yawns. Jack moved to the other side of the room, pulling off his shirt and shrugging out of his suspenders. Your fingers stopped as you watched him, even in your exhausted state you couldn’t help but admire. Muscles rippled across his shoulders as he hunched to undo his trousers and you were caught. You’d never seen a man undress and you were fascinated by the movement of him, the power and strength he seemed to have, even out of his uniform.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed his trousers down over his legs, muscles in his thighs tightening as he bent down to retrieve them before folding them neatly. His fingers were grasping the hem of his undershirt when he realized he had an audience.

“Are ye sleepin in yer dress then, lass?”

“What?” you shook your head, blushing. “No, I ummmm…”

He chuckled, enjoying how flustered you were.

“Would ye like some help?” “Would I…?” Your brow furrowed, your sleep deprived brain brain seemed to be shutting down, at the worst possible moment.

“Why don ye sit down.”

That was a good idea, you thought, he had such good ideas. You sat down heavily, bouncing a little as you tried not to fall back. Jack kneeled in front of you again, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your dress all the way to your knees before sliding it down your arms. You shivered, sitting there in your slip, garters visible. There was more material covering you than your bathing suit but you still felt exposed, his blue eyes raking over you and taking everything in.

Your fingers twisted in your lap, shivering again as you felt his fingers at the top of your stockings.

“Relax Y/N, I’m no an animal who’s goin tae ravish ye in yer half unconscious state.”

“Oh.” Even to your ears, you sounded disappointed.

Jack shook his head, a laugh escaping as he freed your stockings from the garter, sliding each one slowly down your leg. When he was done he reached around your hips to unhook the belt, tossing it to the side. For a moment he rested his head on your thigh, hair tickling the now bare skin, his eyes staring up at you.

“I love ye.”

One hand found his cheek, stroking the evening roughened skin as you looked back down at him.

“I love you too.”

He stood, stopping to kiss you on the way up, fingers pulling pins from your hair and running his fingers through the loosened strands. You sighed, your head falling forward onto his belly, fighting to stay awake with him as your body began to give in.

Moments later you felt him lift you, pulling back the blankets and settling you down, head on the most comfortable pillow you’d ever felt. The mattress depressed behind you and you felt the length of his body slide against you, one arm sliding under your neck, fingers entangling themselves with yours. His other arm slid around your waist holding you close against him, his head resting against the crook of your neck, hot breath tickling your back.

“Stop fightin it lass. Jus go tae sleep, I’ll be here when ye wake up.”

“Promise? Promise this isn’t just a dream and I’m not going to wake up on that street, or realize I died there?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from him as your sleepy words registered their meaning. “I promise ye, mae love. It’s no a dream and ye’re no dead. This is real and nothin is goin tae happen tae ye, no as long as I’m here. I’ll protect ye. Ok.”

He pressed his lips against your neck, holding you tighter.

You were already fast asleep.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again. Pt.2 (Collins Fic)

I actually have part 3 written already which will probably be posted later tonight.  I’ve been reading a lot of first hand accounts of the Blitz, my great nana was there for it and my great uncle was an RAF pilot so I’m interweaving some of their experiences into the narrative. I gave Collins the first name Jack...you know why. I was thinking this was originally going to be only a 3 or 4 part, but its looking like closer to 6, I keep coming up with new ideas. Hopefully I can keep them coming pretty regularly as long as R/L doesn’t interfere too much.

Anyway I made this chapter fairly happy because the next two are going to be pretty bad.

FIC MASTERLIST

Part 1 Here

After the war was over they would call it ‘The Blitz’, the incessant day and night bombings carried out over Britain by Hitler’s Luftwaffe. It seemed as though the sirens were constantly shrieking and the sickening dread had cast a pall over the city of London. In the five days since the attacks had begun on the cities there had been nothing but fear, screaming and the constant smell of burning buildings.

You and the others had ceased going to the Underground shelter, more than half your time was spent in the basement of the boarding house or the shelter near the factory. There had been talk of a Tube station being flooded during a bombing and everyone in there drowning. You would take your chances with a collapsed building. None of you had slept in your beds since that first night, even though, so far, nothing had fallen close to your neighbourhood. The factory was a target you knew, you manufactured munitions for the army. It was really only a matter of time.

Every day there were fighter planes in formation over the city, reports of aerial battles taking place all over. There had been heavy bombing of RAF stations in August which had left you worried sick for Collins until every letter arrived announcing him unharmed. Often while you were outside, you saw Spitfires flying over and waved, wondering if he was in one of them. His last letter had arrived the day the bombings started so you knew at least he’d not been a casualty of the most recent base attacks.

He was right in the thick of it from what you’d read, out there somewhere risking his life, fighting for it and all you could do was keep writing, keep hoping and keep checking the casualty lists. Every day that he wasn’t listed was another day that you could breathe.

You never went anywhere without his letters, or the portrait he had sent at your request. Your fingers would constantly brush over his face, the black and white doing no justice to the brightness of his eyes or the gilded glow of his hair. The tight fear in your chest was with you constantly now.

Margot had nailed you. Attached you certainly were, more than that if you were honest with yourself. While you may have cared for him in a friendly way when you’d met (ignoring the spark of attraction you’d felt as soon as he’d turned that smile on you), his letters had brought you so much further. The unwritten rule that you tried to keep things hopeful infused both of your letters. He knew all about your friends, your work and even the fact that the boardinghouse girls routinely walloped the older men in street cricket. He wrote to you of food fights in the canteen, of a young officer who’d disappeared from base, only to be discovered shacked up with a Commander’s daughter in Brighton. And because he knew he could, he would tell you when one of his squadron didn’t come home, or the fear he felt whenever he flew and the desperate desire to just make it home.

In the three months since your first letter there had developed an intensity to your letters and to the things you both wrote. There was a deep understanding of one another and an overwhelming desire to know everything you could. Somehow he had wedged his way firmly into your heart with his honesty, charm and humor.

But now for five days there had been nothing, not a word. Despite not seeing him listed as a casualty you couldn’t hold down the fear. He could have gone down in the Channel again, or over Germany. He could have been captured, or just be missing. You weren’t family so no one would even know to notify you if something had happened to him.

Not knowing was killing you.

You still wrote to him as promised, every other day and you would never stop, not until you knew for sure. Today, September 14th, your letter would be all about Violet’s wedding. Her beau was home on leave and they didn’t want to wait, they would get married in the basement if they had to. It was hard to plan anything special between the bombs and the ever stricter rationing, but everyone had pulled together for the young couple and it promised to be a beautiful day.

“Y/N! Hurry up, it's time to go.”

Margot, Dolores and Della all stood at the foot of the stairs and you joined them, waiting for Vi to make her appearance. Each of you wore your prettiest day dress from before the war, a strange feeling after so long with nothing to celebrate. Della had visited her kids and brought back armfuls of wildflowers and you had all woven in your hair and fashioned into a bridal bouquet.

The pall that seemed to hang in the air lifted as soon as Vi emerged at the top of the stairs.

A chorus of appreciative oohs and ahhs accompanied the pretty girl’s descent. You all agreed that there had never in history been a more beautiful bride. She wore Della’s wedding dress, cream silk flowing to the floor, covered in part by Dolores’ veil which fluttered around her head like a halo. A new gown could not have looked or felt any more perfect.

“Ladies, if you please.” A photographer from the paper stood nearby, Margot having convinced him to document the day. He was sweet on her and hopeful that as time went on she might look back at him. Despite her continuing grief you had begun to think there might be hope for them in the end. Every little piece of happiness counted.

You all walked Vi to the church down the street, eyes watering as passersby cheered at the procession and began to follow. Despite everything, all the death and fear, a swell of hope permeated the warm air and you allowed it to fill you. There was no room for unhappiness today, and for the people around you, not a million German bombs could take that hope away.

Vi’s beau, a gawky lad of 23 with thick black hair and a slight stutter wept openly as his stunning bride walked up the aisle along with most of the neighbourhood, filling the little stone building. Within moments you gave up trying to wipe away the tears and just smiled through them, holding Margot’s hand as thoughts of your own men flitted through your minds.

Your breath caught when you rose to exit the church, as Collin’s face, smiling in the dawn light that day in June lurched into your head.

“He’s fine Y/N. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Margot squeezed your hand, the sadness in her eyes almost breaking your heart.

What if he wasn’t? What if you had just been smiling while he was being shot down? What if he was dead? How could you ever even fathom the thought of getting over him?

Lifting your face to the sunlight as you stood at the top of the church stairs, you sent out the wish that Margot was right. You didn’t pray, you never had, but if there was a higher power out there you wanted to hedge your bets.

“Please, please just keep him safe.”

Dolores stepped over, wrapping an arm around your waist, followed by the others until all five of you stood in a huddle, heads together, drawing strength from one another and giving comfort where there was none other to be had.

“Well I’ll be God damned.” Margot suddenly laughed.

She gently grasped your shoulders, turning you until you faced the bottom of the steps, the gasps of the others following you as all eyes fell on the man standing there, resplendent in RAF blue and sporting a smile that could melt a glacier.

“Collins!” you cried out as you launched yourself down the stairs and into his outstretched arms.

He held you, hoisted in the air, face in your neck as you squeezed him, the wool of his blazer rough under your bare arms. Part of you thought he was an hallucination, no matter how tight his arms felt around you.

He didn’t put you down when he pulled his head back to look at you.

“Well now I wasnae expectin such an enthusiastic greetin lass.” he laughed.

You slipped down, feet firmly on the ground, hands roaming over his shoulders and arms, making sure he was real.

“You’re ok, you’re ok.” you whispered over and over, your heart bursting with joy.

When you finally looked up at him you saw his look of concern, followed by understanding.

“Ah lass, I’m sorry. I’m fine.” he sighed pulling you in, your head resting over his heart as he wrapped himself around you.

“What happened to you? I was so worried?”

“I couldna get a letter to ye, they started bombing the cities so quickly, everything happened so fast. If we aren’t flyin we’re sleepin, on and on fer a week or more, then they let us have some down time. I asked fer leave tae come see ye.”

“How long?”

“I have tae be back on base by midnight, so six hours. Some mates went out on the town fer the day, they’ll swing by fer me later.” You nodded, the breath that you had been holding for the last five days whooshing out of your body. You would take 6 hours over nothing, any day.

“I guess you just got invited to a wedding, then.”

“Wouldna miss it fer the world.” he hugged you again, lips pressing against your forehead. “I got yer letters last night, but I didna get a chance tae read em.”

“Read them later. Come and meet everyone.”

He was a hit with your friends, with everyone in fact and you found you couldn’t get your eyes off him for a moment. Not that he ever went far from your side.

The entire neighbourhood had banded together for the newlyweds and the small park behind the houses had been festooned with wildflowers, Union Jacks and a hodge podge of items from everyone’s homes. Each neighbour brought a dish to a makeshift trestle table and it was a veritable wartime feast. A violin, drum and some brass had been pulled out and a group of older men were playing music for people to dance.

It was, for one day, as though there wasn’t even a war. Even the Germans refrained from their bombing runs and you could almost forget the threat of invasion, as long as you ignored the flyovers and barrage balloons. Being the only man over 16 and under 60 and not a new husband, Collins was much sought after as a dance partner and he squired every woman who asked. There was nothing in that park but laughter and love, and the kind of hope that wars were won on.

Margot came to sit beside you, stealing an oatcake as you both watched Collins lead your 74 year old landlady in a perfect waltz.

“I have to admit, he’s something.”

“It's the accent.” you quipped, smiling when he waved in your direction.

“Partly, and it obviously has nothing to do with that gorgeous face, that smile or that charm. And don’t even get me started on the rest of him.”

You blushed as Margot elbowed you gently in the side.

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, because I know you’d be lying.”

“It's only the second time I've ever met him.”

“And? I knew the first time I met Charlie, that was all it took for me.”

“Did you…..you know, ever…?”

“Oh yes, and let me tell you something, I don’t regret it, not for a moment. We were going to be married when he was next on leave so I didn’t care. Now, no matter how my life goes, I’ll always have those moments with him, I’ll always know that I was loved, and that he died knowing he was too.”

“It's just, I’ve never.”

“Neither had I. You’ll know if it's right, and if it is, don’t hold anything back. No regrets.”

“No regrets ‘bout wha?” Collins stood in front of you, a little out of breath, his jacket over his arm. He motioned for you to stand, which you did, allowing him to slide onto your chair and pull you down to sit across his lap.

“We were just talking about the happy couple.” Margot smiled, winking at you.

“Ther’ a lovely pair.” he took a bite from the biscuit you held in your fingers, laughing when you narrowed your eyes at him. “Wha? They dinnae feed me at the base, no like this, I’m fair tae wastin away.”

He tried to look innocent, which lasted about as long as you could manage to hold back your laughter. His arms slid around your waist, head resting against your shoulder. You gave into the temptation and brushed your cheek against the top of his head, his thick hair soft against your skin.

If you could have stayed like that forever you would have. There was nothing but contentment to be found with him and you understood everything that Margot had been saying. He was the one, and there was never going to be another.

Afternoon started to blend with evening and the party continued, you danced with Collins until your feet ached and you couldn’t breathe from laughing. Your heart soared with happiness and you tingled all over every time he touched you. Finally, as night began to fall he looked at his watch and sighed.

“They’ll be comin fer me in a few minutes. Le’s take a walk.”

His fingers threaded through yours, his hand so big, engulfing you completely.

“I’ll no get leave again till after the next round, so abou’ three weeks. And I’ll no be able tae write much while we’re flyin, but I’ll let them know tae contact ye if something happens.”

“Don’t think like that, you’ll be fine, just you wait and see.”

He nodded, though both of you knew that the chances were fairly high that he wouldn’t make it in the end. You weren’t going to allow those thoughts to ruin your last precious moments together.

You stopped, tugging his hand until he faced you. Stepping closer, you brought your hand up to his face, fingers tracing his rough jawline and cheek before sliding down to his neck. Standing up on your toes, you pressed against him, brushing your lips over his, feather light and questioning.

With a groan, Collins pulled you up against him, his mouth colliding with yours, teeth scraping against your lips. Need radiated from you both, the need to be closer, the need to cling to this feeling of being alive. Your fingers threaded into your hair as you tried to hold him to you.

The honking of a horn startled you, and with one last swipe of his lips across yours, Collins pulled away, his hands still splayed across the small of your back. His forehead rested against yours as you both panted and tried to catch your breath.

“I wish you didn’t have to go Jack.” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“I was wonderin if ye were ever gonna say mae name. I don’ want tae leave ye. Next time though I’m due a few days, and I’ll be wantin tae spend every second wi’ ye.”

You nodded, blinking back tears, not wanting to let him go. He was living, breathing and warm in front of you, how were you supposed to send him back to war?

“Collins! Let’s go!”

“Oh leave off, lemme say goodbye tae me girl would ye?”

You both chuckled, lips brushing again. Jack pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you off the ground. His fingers brushed over your hair, pulling free one of the flowers.

“I’ll be seein ye lass. Write tae me tonight, tell me about today.”

“I will, and I’ll see you soon.”

He kissed you one last time and stepped away, taking that warmth and life with him. Walking backward to the car, Jack lifted the flower to his lips, smiling and enjoying the slaps on the back his buddies were giving him.

You stood and watched until the car disappeared, the air chilly as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to retain his warmth. In time you wandered back to the park where things were winding down, the bride and groom having disappeared into the house already. The older ladies waved you away when you tried to help, insisting you girls had done enough.

Jack had left his blazer behind, draped across the back of the chair you had both occupied. You placed it over your shoulders, running your fingers over the wool and the small brass plate engraved with his last name. For a long time after you finished writing his letter you sat, tracing the letters over and over before finally wrapping yourself in it, inhaling his smell and drifting off to sleep dreaming of him.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again Pt 5 (A Collins Fic)

A little happier this time, I think Collins has suffered enough for right now.

Part 4

FIC MASTERLIST

The next days and weeks seemed to pass in a daze as the Blitz continued, day after day, night after night, though somewhat less intensive than previously. The mood at the boarding house was gloomy and sad, several of the girls packing up and leaving for the countryside now that the factory was gone. You, Della and Dolores had waited, stationary and grief-stricken for two weeks before going into Margot’s room and packing up her belongings so you could take them back to her parents in Weymouth.

There was no funeral, no body to bury, just the memory of how she died flashing every time you closed your eyes.

Your days were spent throughout the city, a full-fledged Ambulance Corps/Red Cross volunteer now. For hours on end, between the bombings, you helped relocate civilians, administered First Aid and distributed supplies. The bruises on your body ripened into expanses of purple and black, yellow beginning to tinge the edges now. The stitches in your face had been removed yesterday, the bright red scar a slash across the skin.

It served as an ugly reminder of that day and you couldn’t even look in the mirror without seeing her staring back at you.

Violet had returned that morning from her ‘honeymoon’ in Wales, re-opening the barely scabbed wound of grief in all of you and, after hours of crying and talking, you were exhausted. A letter to Jack lay sealed on your little desk, not a mention of Margot, or your injuries or any of the new realities of your life to be found. You didn’t want to burden him with any of it. There had been one letter from him since that note the day after the battle. His exhaustion and sadness bled through every word he’d written on those pages. Something had happened to him, something he didn’t write in his letter but you sensed it, and sensed that it was awful, even life-changing.

He wrote that he loved you, that he only wanted to see you if you still wanted him now. You had cried, your heart swelling with equal amounts joy and sorrow. Joy that he loved you, that you weren’t alone in your feelings and sadness that he could, for even a second, contemplate the notion that you wouldn’t want him. Then the sorrow that came from knowing that Margot wasn’t here to share your joy and sadness.

And the guilt of course, guilt for feeling even a little happy about Jack so soon after her death.

All you told Jack was that you loved him too, and that you were waiting for him.

There was no answer, the RAF was in full battle throes and you could do nothing except wait and hope.

“Y/N, are you coming down to the basement?” Della was at your door, wan smile not reaching her eyes.

You nodded, pulling a dressing gown over your pyjamas and folding Jack’s blazer over your arm. You lay on your cot, not sleeping. You had barely slept a wink since that day, none of you had.  Sometime after the sirens began their nightly wail you felt someone sit behind you, a dainty hand on your shoulder.

“That photographer from the paper came by today, after you went upstairs. He, um, he gave me this.”

You sat up as Vi placed a large envelope in your hands.

“Are these?” your hands shook.

“Yes.” she murmured.

“Go get the others.”

You waited until Della and Dolores joined you on your cot before opening the envelope and sliding the contents out on the blanket. There were intakes of breath as the pictures appeared, whispered reminiscing over each one, tears falling at the many images of Margot’s smiling face. Every moment of that perfect day had been captured, the last day that Margot had smiled and laughed. The last time she had truly been alive.

Your fingers ran over an image of you and her on the steps of the Church, sun creating a glow around you as you watched the bride.

“May I have this one, Vi?”

“Of course, and this one too.” she handed you a photo of you and Jack as you’d sat talking, his arms around you, looking up at you as though you were the sun. The look of adoration on your face just as obvious through the lens.

Your breath caught as you looked at his face, missing him, needing him so much in that moment that it almost overwhelmed you.

Violet’s hand came down on your yours, squeezing gently and you calmed yourself, focusing on the moment at hand.

The rest of the night was spent in memories as the four of you went through the pictures over and over, bittersweet laughter and tears punctuating the conversation. You felt lighter as the sun rose, a kind of closure reached in the night. The sadness remained, the fear too, but you could see Margot smiling now when you closed your eyes. It was as though she was speaking to you, giving you her blessing, telling you that it was ok to go on.

You silently promised her that you would, no matter what.

With dawn came light and the responsibilities of the new day, another morning closer to seeing Jack. You hoped. With his blazer keeping you warm you sent off the letter before reporting to volunteer.

It was noon when Violet found you handing out food in the Tube. Out of breath she came running up to you.

“Y/N, you have to come home now. It’s important.”

You heart leapt in sudden fear. Jack!

Violet noticed your reaction, quickly smiling to assuage it.

“Everyone is ok, just come, please, you’ll see.”

You pestered her the whole way home but she gave you nothing, just a secretive smile and an arm in yours as she hurried you along. Della and Dolores stood by the stairs as you walked in, your landlady close by, wiping her eyes.

“Ok, what’s going on? What happened?”

“A present.” Dolores smiled. “We put it in your room.”

Puzzled, you climbed the stairs, feeling everyone’s eyes on your back. Your room looked the same as you’d left it that morning and you stepped through the door reaching around to pull it closed behind you. Turning as you did so, you caught sight of a figure behind the door and you yelped in fright, jumping back.

“Afternoon.”

Your eyes focused and the dark figure became Jack, standing in front of you, alive and well. Tears filled them as you stepped forward meeting his warmth with your body, arms wrapping around his waist and feeling every bad thing drain away as you felt his arms envelop you.

Nothing needed to be said as you both stood there, unmoving, his heart beating against your ear, his chest rising and falling with his every breath. Some time later he pulled away, his fingers sliding into your hair, holding you gently as he brushed his lips over yours, gently at first and then with increasing urgency. His tongue traced across your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open for him.

His moan was a rumble in his chest as one of your hands slid gently over his neck, fingers gliding under the neck of his shirt. Jack buried his face in your neck, breath hot against your skin as he whispered against you.

“I missed ye so much. God it's good tae see ye.”

“I missed you too, Jack.”

“Le’me look at ye lass, make sure yer real.”

You took in his face as he looked at you. There were lines that hadn’t been there three weeks ago, dark shadows and bags under his eyes. He was smiling gently as you looked at him, drinking him in.

His brow furrowed and he tilted your head to the side, fingers tracing over the faded yellow bruising, then the shell pink spots where the grazes had healed. His lips drew into a tight line, eyes finding the red, raised scar along your jaw.

“It's ok Jack, really.”

“Ye dinnae look ok, wha’ happened tae ye?”

You shook your head, blinking back tears, you couldn’t talk about it. Not yet. Not with him, you didn’t want anything like that to ruin whatever time you had with him.

“Dolores told me abou’ Margot, I’m so sorry luv.”

With a sigh, you sat down on the bed, leaning your head on his shoulder when he sat beside you. His hand reached over, fingers lacing with yours as you sat awkwardly, neither of you knowing what to say or do.

You hadn’t expected this, the air of tension and something else you couldn’t define. Your heart twisted in your chest as you chewed on your bottom lip. Did he feel differently, was that what this awkwardness was?

“Jack?” you whispered when he sighed. “What is it?”

“Ye’ll hate me if I tell ye, luv.”

His head was hanging, hair flopping over his brow, both his hands grasping yours, thumbs rubbing over the scars on your knuckles and fingers.

“Jack, nothing you say will make me hate you. If you feel differently that you did, I’ll understand.”

It hurt your heart to say it, but causing him pain would only hurt you more.

“No!” he jumped up, kneeling on the ground in front of you, hands on your knees. “Nay lass, it’s no tha. No at all, ye understand?”

You nodded, cupping his cheek in your hand. Jack looked like a lost puppy, nuzzling has face against your hand, pressing his lips against your palm.

“I did summan terrible Y/N. Ye’ll no be able tae look at me the same again.” He told you then, the whole terrible story of the battle, everything that happened that day. With tears in his eyes he recounted his part in Hughes’ death, and you finally understood the message that you’d received that day, why he’d written ‘forgive me.’ You ached for his pain, for the guilt you knew he had to feel.

“Jack, look at me.”

He did, the face that you loved so much a mask of pain and self-loathing. Leaning over, you tugged him up, scooting back to lay on your bed, pulling him beside you, his head on your shoulder, your fingers stroking his hair. You looked down at him, his eyes so sad it hurt.

“You did the right thing Jack. He was suffering and he would have died no matter what. You helped him, you were a good friend.”

“I murdered him, there’s no way ‘round tha.”

“No, my love, you didn’t. You made a choice, one that no-one should have to make, but you did what you had to do for your friend. That you feel like this about it means you are a good man. It was an impossible situation.”

“I cannae ge’ it out of me head. I can still hear him screamin, beggin fer help. I couldna help him.”

“You did help him, Jack. You ended his pain.”

“He had a wife, a wee bairn. He was tellin me abou’ ther honeymoon ri’ before we went back up. How he took Sally tae this place in Cornwall and how happy they were, ‘S no fair.”

“No, it isn’t. None of this is fair and I’m so sorry darling.”

“Can ye ever fergive me?” he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I love you.”

“I love ye too lass, so verra much. I never wan’tae let ye out of me sight again.”

“Good, cause I’m not planning to let you go.”

“Le’s go away fer a bit. I’ve seven days. Would ye come away wi’ me?”

“Yes.”

“Where should we go then?”

“Don’t you want to go home, see your folks?” “No. I cannae go knowin I’ll jus have tae leave again. Me Ma and Da understand, they’ll come tae see us.”

“Us?”

“Aye, I wrote them ‘bout ye, they’re dyin tae meet ye.”

“No pressure.” you laughed nervously as his nose nuzzled your neck. “They may not like me you know.”

“Darlin, they’ll love ye as much as I do.”

“Cornwall.”

“Wha?”

“Let’s go to Cornwall, in honour of your friend.”

“If tha’s wha ye wan’tae do, then tha’s where we’ll go.”

“I just want to be with you Jack. I don’t care where.”

“Me too, luv, me too. Why don’ ye get organized and I’ll go back downstairs before yer landlady skins me alive.”

“Right, an innocent young woman with a dashing young RAF officer, alone in my room. She must be having spasms right about now.” you chuckled, easing off the bed.

He followed you, hands on your hips, pressing his mouth against your neck as you led him over to the door.

“Didnae yer folks ever teach ye no tae keep company wi’ strange men in yer room?”

“Nothing was said about handsome Scottish Spitfire pilots.”

“Maybe summan shoulds been.” his lips slid damply behind your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Get out you rascal, before she comes up to skin you alive.”

You pushed him out the door, closing it behind him. His hand came through the gap, holding it open a few inches.

“I love ye Y/N.”

You brushed your fingers over his knuckles.

“I love you too.”

He smiled warmly, pulling back his hand.

“Hurry, I donnae wan ye out of me sight fer long.”

Pursing your lips you blew him a kiss, closing your door and leaning against it with shaking legs.

“No regrets, make it count.” you whispered, your heart hammering your chest.

No regrets.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again Pt 3 (A Collins Fic)

This chapter is all Collins.

Note: graphic descriptions of battle. I regret nothing, but I do apologize because this got dark fast.

Part 1 Part 2 

FIC MASTERLIST

SEPTEMBER 15 1940 COLLINS 10:55am

“Scramble, Scramble, Scramble!”

Collins leapt from his chair, hastily shoving his pile of letters into his jacket, heart jumping into his throat, mouth going dry. The loud clatter of men’s boots on the wooden floorboards was punctuated by more shouts as they sprung up from whatever they were doing, rushing for the doors, the barracks room table littered with board games, half written letters and newspapers, all left behind.

The men were all running at full speed toward the lines of Spitfires standing by. Collins clambered up into the cockpit, wrenching his leather helmet from the control column and jamming it onto his head, radio cables and oxygen tubes trailing. He ran through a mental checklist of settings and instruments as proceeding squadrons took to the air around him. An airman climbed onto the wing handing him the straps of his parachute. Muttering a prayer for luck, Collins slipped it on over his shoulders and secured the safety harness.

On the count, Collins turned on the petrol feeds and pushed the starter button, listening to the engine roar to life with a cloud of bluish smoke be fore rolled away and out onto the field.

There were 12 Spitfires in his Squadron, dubbed Oak and they all turned to the wind and formed up, taking off in four sections of three as they had done a hundred or more times in the past two months. Any pilot who wasn’t scared was a fool, and Jack had never been a fool. With a pat of the pocket over his chest he quickly removed her picture, placing it above his instruments. His heart clenched as he took her in, hair lose, eyes wide, a smile on her face. He had never asked her what she’d been smiling at, preferring to think that it was him.

Tapping his gloved hand against her face he smiled beneath his mask. “I’ll be seein ye again soon lass. I promise.”

He was in the last section to take off, just beginning to throttle down the runway when he heard a violent BOOM. Two empty hangars behind erupted in a giant burst of smoke and earth, with two more blasts 30 feet to his right. The shockwave hit his plane like a giant hammer.

“Let’s get out of here!” Harrison Hughes was Flight Lieutenant for this mission, an old friend of Farrier’s.

Collins looked up and saw a massed formation of bombers perhaps 500 feet above, their bomb bay doors open and their wings decorated with the black cross. Bombs were falling all around him and the squadron clawed for enough height to escape.

“Tae the right!” Collins banked as a pair of Messerschmitt 109 fighters screamed into his path, going at least twice their speed. They had no idea, obscured by the bomb smoke, that they had just streaked into the path of a dozen Spitfires.

“Oak 1 do you have them in your sights?”

“Aye Oak leader, I have the one on the left.”

Both fighters blew up mid air as Collins and Hughes pumped out slugs at 160 bullets per second from their wing-mounted guns. The signal was given to regroup, but the armada of bombers had already begun to drop their bombs on the city.

“No ye fuckin dont.” Collins muttered as the other Squadrons joined them, several hundred racing toward the enemy planes.

She was down there somewhere, in danger. He pictured her standing outside the boardinghouse in her blue dress, hand shielding her eyes as she looked to the sky to see the horrors unfolding. His heart wrenched thinking about it, knowing she was beneath this hell somewhere. He had to keep her safe, keep them all safe. It was his job.

Suddenly, a formation of 20 or more ME 109s came diving in out of the sun. They were already firing before Collins and the others even saw them, sliding by underneath them in groups of two and four, passing close enough to see the eyes of the German pilots.

In his experience of the past two years, air warfare felt like a series of illusions and hallucinations. One moment the air was clear, the next it was full of enemy fighters, and then the next they were gone. Trails of tracer fire spat from German guns and remained hanging in the air long after the plane had sped on.

Squinting against the sun, Collins likened them to streaks of death across the sky.

“Jesus!” the air around him was suddenly alive with tracer fire and he turned violently to see two of the enemy planes on his tail, firing. A bomber flew across his sights and he fired, watching him roll over and dive into the clouds below. He banked to the left as the MEs fired again the stick going sloppy in his hand as the nose of his plane dipped vertically down, the ground spinning.

“Shit, shit.” he muttered, able to pull himself out of the spin, maneuvering in behind another enemy plane. The ME seemed to have no idea that Collins was streaking behind him at 450 mph and he stalked it for several minutes before its wings filled the gunsight and he opened fire. Pieces of the plane broke off and Collins watched as the enemy jackknifed into the ground below.

Months of desperate intensity and ‘flying to exhaustion’ had taken their toll, even with the past 24 hours out of the cockpit. Collins could feel his head pounding. The men had been on duty for 20 hours a day, in the air the whole time, with four hours to rest, if they could. And Collins often couldn't. The numbers were against them, the Germans had almost double the planes and pilots, and unlike Fighter Command, they weren't afraid to send them all into battle. “Oak 1, watch your tail!”

Diving under a row of bombers and MEs, Collins executed a steep climbing turn, far tighter than any ME could follow, and came in behind the last bomber in formation.

“Take him, Oak 1, I have his escort!”

The ME to the right banked off, smoke pouring from its engine as it broke up. Collins slowed and nearly stalled as his guns roared, the bomber rolling and vanishing before he homed in on the next, who fell out of sight as the Spitfires dodged and rolled with the MEs. There, suddenly in front of him, was a perfect target, bomb bay doors opening, getting ready to rain hell down upon the innocent civilians below. Bullets erupted from the Spitfire’s guns and the bomber started to go down, falling apart as flames licked through it. Wanting to see it blow up, Collins gave chase, unwittingly showing his tail to a lone ME that had gone unnoticed.

Collins’ eyes widened in sudden fear as he realized what he’d done.

BOOM! Something exploded under his seat, the armour plating barely protecting him and ringing like a bell.

“Shit! No!”

The Spitfire reared up and hurtled into a savage loop before Collins was able to stabilize it.

“Oak leader, I’m hit.”

Petrol sloshed in the bottom of the plane and he knew that one spark from either tracer fire or the exhaust would be the end of him.

“Heard Oak 1, what’s your status?”

“Fuel tank’s been hit, I’ve go petrol in the cockpit.”

Return to base Oak 1, get another plane. Over.”

“Over.”

Collins limped the Spitfire back to base, landing it cleanly, away from the undamaged buildings.

“She can be saved, but donnae let anythin spark near her till ye drain the fuel!” he yelled, sprinting toward the hangar and calling for another plane.

Someone handed him a canteen of water and he waited, several Spitfires from all squadrons limping in, some damaged, some in need of fuel. The armada of bombers had moved off the coast now, over the channel and the exhausted men simply sat and waited. All reports said the Germans would be coming again. The day was far from over yet.

Hot food was placed in front of them and they ate silently, weary and tormented. For all their efforts, the city had still been heavily bombed, though not to the full extent that the Luftwaffe had planned. People were still dead on the ground, and for all Collins knew, she could be one of them. Pulling out her picture he traced his fingers over her face. There was nothing more he wanted than to see her again.

She’d been in his head since that awful night after the evacuation, her gentle kindness as she’d driven him back to the base and the way she’d cried for him and the others. That she was pretty was, at first, merely a bonus. Through the letters they’d sent back and forth something more had developed, but Collins hadn’t truly believed it until she’d been in his arms the day before. The moment he’d felt her arms around him he knew.

Now, they just had to survive long enough for him to tell her, and to ask her to marry him.

“Collins! Mate, I was wondering how you’d got on.”

Hughes pulled up a seat next to him, looking just as tired as the rest of them.

“Warrick and Stevens didn’t make it.”

“Wha abou’ the other squadrons?” Collins asked around a mouthful of bread.

“24 lost total, 36 planes damaged or destroyed.”

“There’s so many of em, so few of us.”

“We have right on our side though, lad. For King and Country and all that.”

“Yeah, but is it enough?” Collins murmured.

“It had has to be.” Hughes leaned over. “That your sweetheart?”

“Yeah. She’s in London, works in a munitions factory there.”

“That’s where you went to yesterday is it? Was it a happy reunion?” Hughes waggled his eyebrows making Collins laugh and blush.

“Wasnae like tha, there was a weddin.”

“Next time you get leave you’re due a few days right?”

Collins nodded, tucking the picture back inside his jacket.

“There’s a place in Cornwall, called the Swan. I took my Sally there for our honeymoon before all this shit started. Lots of beautiful scenery and plenty of privacy, and it's far away from all this.”

“Do ye think she’ll go wi’ me?”

“I do. The amount of letters she sends you, its obvious she loves you.”

Hughes clapped Collins on the shoulder, before turning to his food. Both men were lost in thought, waiting for the inevitable call, watching the flight crews fuel and prep for the next wave.

2pm

“Scramble, Scramble!”

Collins jerked awake, neck aching from his position slumped in the chair.

“See you up there my boy!” Hughes called as they ran for their planes.

Men roared around him, a bravado of sorts building to hide the palpable fear. The game was on again.

The battle roared and raged, the skies bruised and scarred with tracer fire and smoke. The armada of bombers just kept coming, no matter how many of them the men shot down. Collins and Hughes spent an hour engaged with a trio of particularly determined MEs, diving and banking, spinning and shooting. Collins’ hands cramped, sweaty in his leather gloves as his body took a beating. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he squinted against the late afternoon sun.

Finally, after hours of it, the German planes began to retreat back over the channel, the RAF chasing them until they began to run low on fuel.

The squadron flew in formation over London, Collins looking down at the damage inflicted by the bombs below. Fires had broken out in several areas and factories had been reduced to piles of rubble. Terror welled in his throat as he thought about Y/N down there.

“Please be alrigh lass, please.”

“Oak 1, this is Oak leader, over.”

“Heard, Oak leader.”

“I’ve sustained some damage to my left engine, I’m going to pull back and beside you.”

Collins looked out as Hughes pulled back to his right side. He could immediately see the heavy damage sustained.

“Oak leader, notin severe damage tae yer fuselage, and it looks li yer landin gears been taken out.”

“Noted Oak 1, land everyone safely. I’m going to attempt a landing.”

“Oak leader, I don’ recommend tha’”

“Your concern is noted, Oak 1. See you on the ground.”

Collins landed his plane without incident, along with the rest of the squadron. They all crawled out of their cockpits to stand with the flight crews, watching for Hughes.

“C’mon man.” he muttered as he watched the sputtering plane line up for a hard landing. There was silence as it dropped ever lower, seemingly like a rock out of the sky. If anything, the Spitfire seemed to be gaining speed as it descended. It was evident pretty quickly that it was going to be a bad landing. Hughes came in almost sideways, one wing clipping the ground, the one good engine shrieking painfully as the Spitfire flipped over, sliding cockpit first down the runway. Collins and the others looked on in horror as the fuselage erupted into flames.

A horrible screaming came from beneath the cockpit hood, muffled by the crackling of flames.

“Someone help him!” Collins cried out, running toward the burning plane.

“Collins no!” men chased after him as he grabbed a crowbar from the ground, shielding his face from the heat.

“Hughes! I’m comin mate!”

Over and over he swung the iron against the hood, barely even making a dent. Smoke poured from the wreckage, choking him, the heat so intense he could feel the skin on his face burning.

“God damnit! Someone help me! I cannae break the hood!”

A set of arms pulled him back, several of the men holding him as she struggled and yelled. He could see the condemned man convulsing and writhing, hammering on the unyielding cage.

“Collins! Please! Do it, please God, do it!”

The despairing cry of his friend carried over the men as they let Collins go. They had all talked about this, every man had agreed on the course of action.

Collins looked down as someone handed him the gun, tears in his eyes a sick, awful feeling filling his chest. He walked toward the cockpit again, flames licking the inside, Hughes barely moving but still screaming in agony. With a deep breath, Collins pointed the gun forward, looking into the eyes of the dying man. Hughes nodded, mouthing the words “thank you” before closing his eyes. Collins sobbed, tears streaming down his soot-covered face before pulling the trigger, shooting Hughes in the head.

The sea of men parted as he turned away from the wreckage, throwing the gun to the side. Hands brushed his shoulders as silence followed him all the way back to his own plane where he stopped, falling to the ground by the wheel.

He couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard he gasped and struggled for air. Men surrounded him, lying exhausted on the grass. He couldn’t get the image of Hughes out of his head, his pleading eyes, the terrible screams. He felt so desperately alone.

Collins sat for a few minutes, head on his knees as he tried to pull himself together. Finally he managed to catch a breath, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out her picture. Choking back tears he ran his thumb over it, leaving a black smear on the corner from his sooty hands. He just wanted her, needed her to hold him and tell him that he’d done the right thing. Ripping a page from his flight manual he scribbled a note with his grease pencil, fingers leaving black streaks across the paper.

Looking about wildly he clutched it in his hand, no envelope in sight, not really seeing what was around him. Panic rose in his throat as he panted and gasped, he had to find one, had to or it would be the end of the world.

A hand came down firmly on his. “Collins, mate.” the voice of his flight crew member was gentle and calm. “Let me, I’ll take care of it ok.”

He gently pried the crumpled paper from Collins’ hand, knowing the man was close to collapse. He knew where the addresses of the loved ones were kept. Looking down at the paper he sighed heavily, feeling the despair of the younger man in every word.

“I’m alive. I love you. Please forgive me.”

Collins was in a daze as the man walked off, not seeing anything of what was around him. A hand came down gently on his shoulder, followed by another and then more as the men all gathered around, huddled together in the cold night air, all looking toward the smoldering wreckage of Hughes’ plane. Their silent support and acceptance of his actions roused Collins. With a nod he turned away, facing the wheel before curling into a ball and weeping like a baby.